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myhockeyworld87 · 4 years ago

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Bubble Wrapped - Part 2

Word Count: 4,247

POV: Reader

Warnings: Language, NSFW, Smut, Please read the note in the Masterlist

Teams: Bruins, Caps, Flyers, Lightning and Pens

Notes: Ok so here we go with Part 2. I hope you guys enjoy this. I’m trying to add some of the suggestions that I’ve gotten in. Please feel free to send me an idea if you have it and I will try and work it in. Also I would love your feedback on this, as well as tell me what players you want to see. With that Happy Reading!!!

As you made your way down the long hallway to Conference Room three, you realized that you didn’t pack enough flats for these next several weeks. If things were going to happen this fast you definitely needed to ditch the heels for a pair of running shoes instead. You couldn’t imagine what had gone wrong in this short amount of time. By your calculations, the Capitals should be in there now having dinner. The Pens were Conference Room one, two was being cleaned from when the Flyers were in there and then the Lightning would go in, and the Bruins should’ve been long out of three before the Caps even went in. Even though you had everything timed out to the minute with ample time in between, you knew things were bound to go wrong, but you didn’t expect to see your conference room in complete shambles.

“What the hell is going on?” you asked Alexis as you took in the room. Food was thrown everywhere. It was on the walls, on the floor, and on the plexiglass where your servers stood; it was even on the players, even though there were only a few of them in the room itself at the moment.

“Well, you see those guys there,” Alexis pointed to a table where David Pastrnak, Brad Marchand, and Charlie Coyle all sat. “They were still eating and I had the room cleaned just like you said, but let them go because the plane was late. I totally thought they’d be done before these guys showed up.” You looked over to where Tom Wilson, TJ Oshie, and Jakub Vrana sat, some green vegetable hanging off the shirt of Oshie. “They said it wouldn’t be a problem and I only left for a second, when I came back they were already throwing food at each other.”

“Where’s the rest of the team?”

“I sent them over to Conference Room one since it’d already been cleared out.”

“Alright, go make sure everything is fine with everyone else and I’ll handle this.” Alexis scurried out of the room, as you surveyed the damage. “Alright which one of you guys started this?” They all acted like you hadn’t said a word. It was seriously like dealing with a bunch of kindergarteners. You walked over to the Bruins table first. “It’s a little ironic is it not, that they call you Pasta?” you said picking noodles off of David Pastrnak, his shoulders shook as he tried to contain his laughter. Maybe you’d have luck with the Caps players. “What about you? You guys have anything to say?” When no one said anything, you had no choice but to say. “Look you know I can go to the league with this and you guys can be sent home.” While it was true that you could do this, you doubted a little good fight was going to get anyone sent back. “But I don’t want to do this, we’re only a few hours into this...guys, can’t we try and make this work?” They seemed to mull this over yet still no one said a word. “Fine, you and you,” you said pointing the Wilson and Pastrnak. “Come with me. The rest of you have five minutes to get to your rooms.”

“Why us?” Pasta asked.

“It’s obvious, you two started it.” They both seemed taken back by the statement, so you explained further. “You both have more food on you than anyone else.”

“Well, she’s not wrong,” Oshie muttered and you were barely able to contain the laughter that bubbled inside you.

“Now, I suggest you get going as your down to four minutes.”

“But I haven’t even got to eat yet,” Vrana whined.

“Call room service.” You then told a few of the staff to clean up the mess and close off the conference room until the morning, then turned to the two culprits that were picking food off themselves to the side. “Come with me.” They turned and followed you up to your suite, which had basically become your makeshift office. Once you were inside, you turned to both of them. “Now, tell me what this is about?”

“No way you have a pool table,” Wilson stated. God, men could be so simple-minded at times. They got so easily distracted.

“Yes, Tom, it’s a pool table. Now can we focus on the matter at hand?”

“I’ll play you? Whoever wins has to follow through with the bet.” Pasta immediately said, as if you weren’t even in the room.

You stuck your thumb and index finger in your mouth, squealing out a high-pitched whistle for the boys’ attention. They both turned in your direction then. “Now that I have your attention. You’re not here to play pool. You’re here to tell me what the hell happened in my conference room and how it will never happen again.”

“You know you’re even hotter when you’re angry.” All you could do was roll your eyes and cross your arms, at Wilson’s comment. He must have noticed your impatience, for he finally added. “Look it’s a stupid bet we had last season, that he didn’t follow through on when he lost, that’s what started the food fight.”

“I didn’t lose.” Pasta insisted. “I won, and you know it.”

“You did not.”

“Woah, stop!” You hollered as the two started to bicker back and forth. “Are you saying this can all be settled with a game of pool?”

“Yeah!” They both answered simultaneously.

“Perfect, then have at it.” You motioned to the pool table and Pasta headed in the direction only to be stopped by Tom’s arm.

“So, what’s in it for us?” He asked.

“I’m sorry what? I’m giving you the opportunity to solve your damn problem.” You fairly spat the words at him.

“Yeah, but you’re also getting something out of this. I’m just thinking that we could all get a little something out of this.” He looked over at Pasta, who seemed to catch on to his meaning.

“What exactly do you want? It’s not like I have a ton to offer, and don’t forget I can still turn you both into the league.”

“Nothing major, just a little kiss.” Why you were surprised when Tom suggested that, you weren’t entirely sure. Let’s face it, you knew they were stuck in this bubble without female companionship. Hell, you were in the same situation, well maybe not the same since you were surrounded by a bunch of hot NHLers. You just didn’t expect this so early in their quarantine here.

“Fine, but after this stupid bet is settled.” They nodded their agreement, then headed over to the pool table. You barely paid attention to the game, texting Alexis to make sure everything was running smoothly downstairs; which it was. It seemed that Pasta was stripes and Wilson was solids, and it definitely seemed like Pasta had the upper hand. When you finally gave your full attention over to the game, you couldn’t help but notice when Tom leaned over the table how nice his ass was. Both men were well-toned and muscular in all the right places and you knew it wouldn’t be a hardship kissing either of them or anything else for that matter. When David stretched out to make a shot, you noticed his tattoos and your fingers itched to trace them. To say you were getting hot and bothered by these two men was an understatement.

The game started to get intense as fewer and fewer balls were on the table. Pasta missed his shot, turning it over to Tom; who literally started to run the table. It was as if he couldn’t miss. Finally, he was down to just the eight ball. If he made the shot, he would win and the game would be over. He took a deep breath, the action making you take notice of how his shirt strained against the muscles of his chest. Lining the cue up, he took the shot, and the black ball sunk into the pocket just like he had called. A bark of laughter left Tom’s lips. “I told you I was the winner before. Pay up Pasta.”

You had to admit, you were curious how much money was on the line that would cause all this trouble. David, for his part, just shook his head and pulled out his phone. It must be a huge sum if he had to transfer it from his bank account. “What do you want me to tweet?”

“I’m sorry did you just say tweet, as in Twitter?”

“Yeah,” Tom said looking at you as if you were the one that was out of your mind and not him. This whole damn mess was over a stupid Twitter message. You literally wanted to scream, but instead, you just listened as Tom told David what to say. “All it has to say is, ‘In my opinion, Tom Wilson is the best goal scorer in the league.’”

“Done,” Pasta announced shoving the phone in Wilson’s face. You had to lean over Tom’s shoulder so that you could see it as well, for you still couldn’t believe your entire conference room was in shambles over something so juvenile.

“Well, now that, that’s settled boys, I assume I won’t have any more problems from the two of you in my hotel.”

“Oh, you still have your part of this bargain,” Tom said, gliding the back of his finger down your arm. You suppressed the shiver the sensation gave you.

“Alright, who’s first then.” You were never one to back down from a bet and this was no exception.

“By all means,” Tom motioned for Pasta to go first.

David took a step toward you, wrapping a strong arm around your waist as he pulled you close to him. Your hand pressed against the rock-hard muscles of his chest before making its way to the back of his neck. He brushed a lock of hair from your face, then placed his hand gently on your cheek to caress it before his lips came down on yours. The kiss was gentle, yet firm at the same time and you opened tentatively so that he could slide his tongue into your mouth. His hand which rested at your back pulled you in closer and you went willingly. You had a feeling if Tom wasn’t watching this would turn into something more than just a kiss. But Tom was watching and waiting, and you weren’t willing to give David anything more with an audience. So you gently broke away, allowing him to chase your lips with a few last kisses.

“You may have won the little pool match Wilson, but I doubt you’ll win anything more with this one here.” Why did everything have to be a competition?

You turned toward Tom, fully expecting him to take you in his arms and kiss you senseless. Instead, he grabbed you around the waist only to whisper low in your ear. “Another time princess, maybe when we don’t have eyes on us.” He released you then but then turned back. “I will be back for that kiss you owe me.” With that the two left your suite, leaving you a bit dazed and breathless, and longing for that kiss as well.

Shaking yourself, you brought yourself back to the present and what needed to be done at the hotel, instead of daydreaming of what kissing Tom Wilson would be like. A quick call to Alexis told you that all the players had eaten but there were still a few milling about in each of their designated workout areas. You slipped out of your business attire and opted for a comfy pair of leggings with an oversized shirt to make one more round through the hotel before calling it a night.

You ran into Carly in the lobby. “So how’d everything go on your end? Any outlandish requests for something to be brought in?”

“Not so far. I think the Pens want some extra gym equipment, but I’ve got it covered.”

“I knew I put the right woman in charge.”

“Speaking of being in charge? What the hell happened with Conference Room 3?” You rolled your eyes.

“Food fight.”

“Oh, I heard that. I also heard you took two of them to your room?” she wiggled her eyebrows at you suggestively before elbowing you in the ribs.

“Had to get everything straightened out.”

“And…”

“And maybe, I might have kissed one of them.” She gave you a mocked look of shock.

“Nothing else?”

“Not at the moment, though I do owe the other one something, and let me tell you I won’t mind paying off that debt at all.” Just the thought of Tom holding you had you hot and bothered. “And on that note, I’m going to finish up down here before calling it a night. I think Tim has the night shift tonight if anyone needs anything.”

“Yeah, he does. He’s back in the office, making sure things are ready for breakfast. I just told him I was done for the night. I’m heading off to bed, don’t have too much fun down here.”

“Me, what about you, Car? There’s not some hot NHLer waiting in your room?” She headed for the elevators but turned back to answer you.

“Not tonight, but tomorrow could be a whole other story.” With that, she was gone as the elevator doors slid open and shut again.

You headed off to make sure the conference rooms were fine. When you noted that everything was in place, you went to check on the workout rooms. They were supposed to be cleaned periodically throughout the day, but with being open twenty-four seven; you wanted to make sure housekeeping wasn’t slacking. A quick walk past the Capitals and Pens rooms showed that no one was in there and they were spotless. As you went into the Flyers' workout facility, you could see someone inside. You tried to cough discreetly as to not scare them, but they didn’t hear you. The room had a few mirrors around it, but he happened to not be looking in any of them as he was doing squats with some free weights. He had his shirt off and a tight pair of shorts on, that let you see every muscle as he crouched down working on his quads and other various leg muscles. A few droplets of sweat had formed on his body and you itched to dry them off for him. Your mouth went dry the longer you stared at him as you were trying to make out the tattoo on his arm. It was at that moment that he caught you staring, a knowing smiling crossing his face. “Sorry…” you stuttered out after being caught red-handed.

“I’m not.” He dropped the weight down on the bench beside where he was working out before grabbing a towel and wiping off the sweat on his body. “Did you come to use the equipment or did something else bring you here?”

“Something else,” you realized the mistake as soon as the words left your mouth. “I mean…I was…” In a few short steps, he was standing in front of you and suddenly you couldn’t quite remember why you were there.

“Something else works for me.” He leaned his hand against the wall behind your head; his body so close you could feel the heat coming off of it.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to compose yourself, as you didn’t need this man to get under your skin as much as he was. “I was just making sure everything was fine in this room. I didn’t mean to disrupt your workout. I’ll let you get back to it.”

You made a move to back out the door when he grabbed your hand. There was an electricity in his touch and had you both looking down to where his hand touched your body. “Don’t go…I mean, I was done…” It was nice to see he was just as flustered as you were for a moment. It put you both on an even playing ground after you’d been caught staring at him. “I’m Travis by the way, most people call me TK.”

“I know.” You replied, before adding. “Konecny from the Flyers.”

“Well, now you have me at a disadvantage.”

“I’m (Y/N). I manage the hotel.” You said almost extending your hand to shake his and then realizing that wasn’t acceptable at the moment.

“Oh, so you’re the one in my little handbook to call if I have any problems.”

“That’s me. Here to help you in any way I can.” You let the innuendo hang in the air a bit and you saw its meaning wasn’t lost on him.

“So if I told you there was a problem in my room, would you send maintenance to come look at it or would you do a thorough inspection yourself?” Oh, he was smooth, you had to admit that.

“Well, it wouldn’t make sense to call maintenance when I’m right here, now would it?”

A raise of his eyebrows was your answer back before he went over and grabbed his shirt and belongings. “Then I think we should definitely go check out that problem.” His hand went to the small of your back as he led you out of the room and to the elevators. “I’m in room…”

“Five-twenty,” you supplied.

“Should I feel special that you know that?”

“Do you want the honest answer?” He shook his head yes. “No, it’s my job to know who’s in what room. In case you haven’t noticed this whole thing is kind of a big deal. I have all my I’s dotted and my T’s crossed.”

“So you know every guys' room number here?”

“It sounds a little pathetic when you put it that way.” Maybe pathetic wasn’t the right word, but desperate was one you didn’t want to use.

“No, I’m actually impressed.” He tilted his head looking over at you as you pressed the number five in the elevator. “So if I asked you what room Brad Marchand was in you’d say?”

“That I can’t tell you that, but it’s in the teens and about three floors up from you.” He chuckled softly and you realized you liked the sound of his laugh.

The two of you walked in silence the rest of the way to his room. Thankfully, there weren’t any players milling about in the hallway. “This me.” He said when you were in front of his door. He fumbled with the key, then opened it.

“What seems to be the problem? TV not working? View not to your liking?” You teased and he caught on quickly.

“Actually, it’s the mattress. I swore I heard it squeak earlier.” He tossed his t-shirt and keys on the dresser.

You moved to the bed, pressing on the mattress. “Hmm, seems fine now.”

He grabbed at your waist then, pressing you close to his body. “But see, I’m a very active sleeper. You can’t get the full effect unless you’re on the bed.” He tossed you back onto the mattress and a giggle escaped your lips. Travis crawled on the mattress then, stalking his way up your body. “Didn’t seem to do it then either. I think we’re going to have to give it a thorough workout.”

“But of course, I mean I want you to be completely satisfied with our hotel service.” A half-smile appeared on his face for a split second before his lips were crashing down on yours. His lips were soft yet sure, and you opened immediately for him; his tongue sweeping inside to tangle with yours. He was a good kisser, that was your first thought, and you wouldn’t mind just doing this all night. But then he was pressing his hips into your body and realized you wanted more. Your hands glided up his back, feeling his slightly damp skin from his workout.

He finally broke the kiss, both of you needing air. His hands gathered your shirt, but then he stopped himself. “Can I?” You moaned out a yes, wanting as little clothing between your bodies as possible and he hauled you up so he could take the oversized shirt off. “This is pretty.” He commented, while lightly tracing the lace of your bra. “I think I’d like it better off though.” Travis hands worked around to your back unclasping your bra and toss it to the side. “Fuck, these are perfect,” he breathed out as he drank in the sight of your breasts. His mouth was on them then, taking a peaked nipple in his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. A moan left your mouth and you could feel yourself growing wet as he continued to lavish your breasts.

Snaking your hands around his neck, you drew him back down onto the mattress with you. He rolled you both onto your sides, his mouth coming back to yours so he could kiss you again. Neither of you was in a rush, as your hands ghosted along his chest and his played with your nipples. Time sort of stood still, as the two of you just laid there kissing slow and sensually. After a while, Travis pushed you back against the mattress, your legs on either side of his waist. He flexed his hips into your clothed core and you felt a rush of wetness between your spread legs. He continued to roll his hips into you, as his mouth alternated between your breasts. You lay there panting and moaning with each flex. “TK…” you finally breathed out. “Stop teasing.”

“Oh baby, you haven’t seen me tease yet.” As if to prove his words, he sat back on his legs and started to remove your leggings. He only rolled them halfway past your hips, then brought the waistband up before snapping it back down on your core. Heated flooded you there and the moan that left your mouth was almost obscene. “You like that?” and he repeated it one more time before stripping of you of both your panties and legging. “Fuck yeah you do. You’re soaking.” He didn’t have to even touch you to see how wet you were. He wasted no time, inserting two of his fingers in you as his mouth sucked on your clit. You about came off the bed. He continued to work his fingers in and out of your body as his tongue made kitten licks on your nub. You could feel your body tingle as the orgasm started to build. It hovered there, just beyond your reach and you threaded your hands in TK’s hair urging him on; only to have him stop.

“Travis…” you whined out.

His eyebrows shot up. “That’s teasing babe.” You groaned in frustration as his fingers left your pussy. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it better in a sec.” He pushed his shorts down his hips, then kicked them off. His mouth coming up to cover yours and you could taste yourself on his lips. With one smooth glide forward, his cock pushed into you; your hips rising up to meet him. “Fuck you feel good.” He moaned out, then started to pump in and out of your body. It was a slow pace at first as he was building up a rhythm for the both of you to follow. “Yeah babe, that’s it.” He praised as you met each of his thrusts. The combination of his teasing beforehand and steady pace, had you back on the edge in no time. Travis leaned in close to your body, your faces merely inches away. “Come on baby…I know you’re close….” He sped up then, his cock hitting that sweet spot perfectly. “That’s it.” You went to scream as a wave of pleasure washed over your body, but he captured your mouth swallowing the sound down as he came with you. He pumped inside you a few times, just reveling in the feel of your pussy clenching around him, before breaking the kiss so you both could breathe. When he was finally spent, he collapsed onto his side, rolling you with him. “That was…”

“Mmm, I agree.” You whispered back. “Though I don’t think your mattress has any problems.”

He laughed and you felt the vibrations in your body, as he held you close to him. “Who could tell with all your moaning.” He teased back then flicked your nose.

“Me? I wasn’t the only one.”

He shrugged a shoulder as if he didn’t want to admit he was just as loud as you. “Hope the walls are thick here.”

“They’re decent, just don’t give me away if Hart asks you any questions in the morning.”

He laughed out a, “never.” You pecked him on the lips, then started to get out of bed. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got things to do.”

“Things or other people?” You couldn’t quite tell if he was teasing or jealous.

“Things… but you have my number if the mattress suddenly starts squeaking again.” You gave him a wink as you shimmied on your leggings and threw on your shirt.

He grabbed your hand and brought you down so your face was inches from him. “I have a feeling it may act up again.” His lips were on yours kissing you hard and fast.

“I’ll be waiting for your call.” With that you headed out the door, quietly shutting it before walking down to the elevator. Well, day one was definitely interesting. You couldn’t wait to see what day number two would bring.

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lamentsof-bee · 5 years ago

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taking scissors to pure canon - take two

i wrote this fic for @perseachase bc we couldn't believe that royai didn't end up together and we are 100% FMAB trash. always.

i’m not saying i wrote it better (but wendy might >.< (KIDDING hiroshi onogi plz don’t kill me!))

this story wrote itself and really wasn't for anyone but us but i figured if we were feeling this way, maybe someone else was too. endless pining and never-quite-fluff is always a must.

idk, shameless self indulgence as always. but y'all can read it if you want (only if you don't judge my constant change of tense tho!!! it's a MOOD ok???)

(also on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23498194)

Summary: There are plenty of ways their story could have ended. But there was only one ending that was right.

Riza Hawkeye swore to her Colonel that she would follow him into hell. He never realized that one day, he would truly need her to do so.

They had heartbreak a-plenty under their belt. And scars to prove their worth. After Ishval... after the Homonculus... after everything, didn't they deserve a softer ending?

[A story that fills in the gaps and voices the thoughts of the truest OTP to ever walk the streets of Amestris]

The first time Riza Hawkeye met Roy Mustang she had come into the kitchen through the backdoor. The estate still seemed grand back then, it was clean and her father had been esteemed and passionate enough to make a good living for his family.

Roy stood at the stove watching a pot boil.

Riza entered through the door letting the house cat she had chased in the garden escape her arms.

‘I think it’s hot.’ She said nodding at the pot in front of him.

‘Hm?’ A beat had passed. ‘Oh, yeah. Professor Hawkeye is having me look at all sources of heat so –’

‘So you’re staring at a pot of boiling water and hoping it will impart some wisdom on you?’

She had deadpanned it.

‘The secrets of alchemy are many.’ He was too distracted by his task to notice her jab, or at least that’s what she thought.

She shrugged and passed him. She didn’t know then that this person would plague her mind for the following nine years.

Their meetings from then on had been sporadic and they rarely exchanged more than a couple words. Still, Roy had become shadow she was used to in her house. She stopped being surprised to find him huddled in her father’s office reading quietly.

When her mother had passed, though, things had changed.

Professor Hawkeye became more withdrawn. The doors to his study would almost always be closed. He took all his meals at his desk and rarely made conversation with Roy, let alone Riza.

Roy had provided comfort during that time.

She liked to bug him about his slow academic progress but sometimes, when her father got too caught up in his own mind, she would sit with Roy in the kitchen and he would tell her about what he was learning.

The complicated matrices of alchemy were a welcomed distraction to the mansion that stood in shambles and the gravestone it guarded.

She had found his eyes welcoming back then. His entire being open and excitable. He’d make a snide remark, even flirt a little, and she would be reminded of what it was like to look at a real human being. Not the shell of one her father had become.

More than once she caught herself wanting to tell Roy about the secret her father had made out of her. How he spent long hours poring over her back immortalizing his work onto her skin. She wondered what Roy’s eyes would look like if he ever found out.

She shook her the idea out of her head.

Riza remembers the day he gave her his name card. A soldier working his way through the ranks. The day he said he would find a place for her if she ever felt lost. The funeral had marred the day with sadness and yet Riza remembered her heart lifting as she took what he offered her. It was nice that he had offered to organize the funeral too. God knows there was nothing left in the Hawkeye bank account but debt and disarray. It had been even nicer of him to quietly watch over her, never knowing that this had been her father’s final wish.

He hadn’t become a state alchemist at the time. And yet, when she looked at him all she saw wide eyed hunger for knowledge and change.

Roy Mustang wanted to change the world.

It had been an accident, that he let his plans slip. He shouldn’t have told her, he knew it. Wide eyes optimism seemed silly. But he got caught up in the moment and the feeling of his mentor’s bones calling out to him from the grave begging for relief had forced him to open his mouth.

She had let her secret slip then too.

The secret that her father had entrusted her with a coded Transmutation Array branded on her back. She wanted the world to be better, she realized. She wanted the world to be safer. So that no child had to grow up without a mother, and so that every kid would have someone to reach out to if their ever distant father grew more tiresome.

He had made up his mind, he was going to be a good solider. He used the knowledge she had imparted to him and began to learn.

Countless days he spent hovering over her naked back copying the symbols into his notebook, muttering to himself. His touch had always been soft and his eyes always full of wonder as he looked at the markings. Never once did he let his confusing get the better of him. And he always made sure to thank Riza for her sacrifice, for baring herself to him and trusting him.

He must have known somehow that he was all she had left. A last comfort in a comfortless world.

She made him swear to take her secrets to his grave. She didn’t understand why her father had burned his entire research before he passed but she would not be one to disobey him, even in death. If he wanted the research private, then it would remain that way. For eternity.

Now Roy tried to carry the burden with her and went to make a difference.

It took him three years to pass the State Alchemist certification exam and with it he earned the title Major. Change was long overdue.

So she went to war with him.

It turns out years of good humoured can shooting in the backyard and kicking it with the local street urchins were enough foundation for a good soldier to be built upon.

And a good solider she was. No one could ever tell Riza Hawkeye that she wasn’t committed.

She took the parts of herself that her father had shunned, the wide-eyed lost look that longed for love, and buried them deep within her. In its stead she took her rifle firmly and never missed a shot. Riza was strong now. They didn’t call her The Hawk’s Eye for nothing.

‘Life’s a whole lot easier if you’ve got someone watching your six.’ Maes Hughes had said to Roy.

He had been right. Major Hughes was often right, though Roy would never admit it. And Riza always had his back.

The things they did in Ishval…

The crimes they committed there…

It was unspeakable.

Riza will never forget the smell of burning skin and the Major’s eyes as he forced himself to watch.

No one was surprised when the troops (the ones that survived that is) came back with PTSD and fever dreams.

Riza found herself washing her hands, trying to scrape off the blood she had spilled, so often that her hands had permanent calluses and the skin was always red and dry.

The person Ishval had turned her into… that wasn’t what she joined the military for. This wasn’t what she wanted…

Looking in the mirror all she saw was a woman with sunken in cheeks, bags under her eyes and a short haircut that should have been efficient but now only reminded her if her time at war. She had only been a cadet, god damn it. Graduating from the academy with what?! A diploma and body count in the hundreds?

So young to have seen such chaos.

The alchemic secrets branded into her back felt heavier than ever.

But Riza Hawkeye was strong now.

So she grew her hair out. Never again would she look in the mirror and look like the person she had been. She ate better, forced herself to rest more. Eventually her cheeks filled out and her skin gained colour. The tiredness though, that never really passed. Not truly. The days she was plagued by nightmares, most nights really, she recounted Roy’s goals. His plan for protecting the people and the country.

Had it been foolish of her to believe him?

Could she still trust in him after watching him burn an entire country off the map? He had been following orders… and so had she…

Her thoughts were still clouded when she called on him. He picked up on the second ring, his voice rough.

‘Hello?’

‘Major Mustang…’ She hesitated, not sure how to continue or what to say. Why had she called him again?

‘Hawkeye. It’s midnight.’ He knew. He always knew.

A pause. Neither of them continue.

Perhaps they are both thinking about the last time they spoke.

They had been standing in front of the graves of children. Children that they had slaughtered. She had asked him what had happened, what had changed? How could he have convinced her to follow him into the military with a speech of grandeur and change when all she had gotten was death and decay?

He takes a breath and takes one for the team.

‘I could use some company, Hawkeye. What do you say?’

Her yes is shaky at best. It’s the first of many times he masks his desire to help her as his own weakness. It’s the first of many times that she chooses to ignore it and agree.

When he shows up to her apartment he’s dressed casually. Any other woman would have fanned herself at the white shirt, black slacked gentleman leaning against the doorframe. Major Mustang was handsome and found the company of women a-plenty. But today he looked tired.

He always looks tired. Riza thought to herself. We all do.

He makes no comment regarding her apartment. She had been left a dowry by her mother, it wasn’t much, not enough to cover the rent of even a shoebox apartment. This one had been left to her by a distant aunt that had wanted to spite her own kids. Riza hadn’t known her well, nor had she really cared. But she took the apartment nonetheless.

He stands stiffly in the middle of her living room, his eyes cast towards the dark window.

‘Can’t sleep, Major?’ Riza has her back facing him, keeping her hands busy by making tea.

‘I’m sure you know the feeling.’

Her hands pause but her silence is evidence enough.

‘Would you like some tea?’

She brings over the kettle on a tray with two teacups. Pouring, she focuses on the task at hand.

He searches her face.

‘Tell me what’s on your mind.’

Her movements halt as she re-examines her intentions. She pushes the teacup towards him and strengthens her resolve.

‘You made me a promise.’

He is silent, unmoving.

‘When we stood in the ruins of Ishval, you made me a promise.’ She goes on. ‘No more flame alchemists can exist. No one should be given access to such power again.’

Her words are firm. His tea is untouched.

The implication of her statement is clear. I will never see this power abused the way it has been ever again.

‘Think about what you’re asking.’ His words are quiet but they stand as firm as hers.

‘I know what I’m asking.’

‘I don’t think you do.’

Her voice rises. ‘To destroy evidence of alchemic research is - ’

‘No! Think of what it would do to you!’

Roy clenches his fists in his lap, he looks at her incredulously. ‘You’re asking me to disfigure you. To hurt you simply to make information inaccessible. It’s…’ He hesitates. ‘It’s not good enough.’

The betrayal is clear on Riza’s face.

‘You swore to me that you would do this. You promised that all evidence of flame alchemic research would be destroyed.’ Her look turns accusing. ‘Is this the second promise you will break to me?’

Something inside Roy wavers. He felt his heart stop and the full consequence and destruction he had caused in Riza’s life becomes clear to him. She followed him into the military. She followed him into war. No amount of good intention could revive the parts of their humanity they had lost fighting for Amestris.

His voice is small. ‘Don’t make me do this.’

But she can’t give in.

‘Please don’t make me hurt you too.’

‘You promised.’

Their eyes bore into each other. Neither seem to be breathing.

Not until –

Not until she breaks.

‘Please.’ Her voice barely a whisper. Tears welling but her eyes hold his. ‘Set me free.’

He comes undone. He owes her this. He owes her – everything, everything he could ever give.

And so she stands in front of him, shirt on the floor, arms wrapped around her torso as if she could hide her vulnerability.

The markings on her back look the same as they had when he had first studied them. The back they laid on was stronger though, the muscles more tight, the skin seemed thinner as if time had eroded its previous youthful glow.

Her face is angled over her shoulder but she doesn’t look at him.

‘Hawkeye��’

‘Do it.’ She insists.

He drew a haphazard transmutation circle on the back of his hand with a marker she dug up in her kitchen. The entire time she had been quiet, quietly getting the marker, quietly arranging herself in front of the heater unbuttoning her blouse. Before he could stop himself his fingertips brushed against the tattoos. The markings he had studied for hours, he hadn’t realized how much they weighed on her. They had given him freedom, power even, but for Riza it seems they had always been a burden.

Set me free. She had begged him.

‘I’m sorry.’ It’s barely a whisper. His fingers are fanned over her shoulder blade. He wills the heat to spread through his joints all the way to the tips of his fingers and out. He feels the heat of his alchemy connect with her skin and attempts, as gently and with as much control as he can muster, to penetrate only the surface of her back. To scar her markings but leave her as uninjured as possible.

She tenses with pain, her fingers claw into her sides as she suppressed a whimper. The heat moves downwards singeing anything it passed He manages to burn through the top left part of the Array before he needs to turn his back on her. The smell of burnt flesh, the sizzling of her skin under his hand - it reminds him too much of the battlefield. What is he doing?! His stomach turns and it takes all of his willpower to not vomit on her carpet. If he could cut his hand off then and there, he would.

Her breath is frantic, her face tear stained.

‘Go on.’ She chokes out.

He turns and hesitates, he can see her strength draining as the pain takes over. There are few things worse than second degree burns.

‘Riza…’

‘Do it!’

Free me!

He needs to close his eyes this time but manages to put his hand on the right side of the small of her back. He starts the process over. He’s praying to any and all gods that he’s not inflicting irreparable damage. They both don’t last too much longer before the pain is unbearable and his flashbacks get too strong. By the time he’s finished there are tears running down his face and gall riding up his throat.

With shaking hands he moves towards her, meaning to provide some kind of comforting touch but hesitates. She must only see him as destruction now. Even more than before.

Still, his instincts kick in as her knees buckle, he grabs her by the arms. She’s out like a light, her breathing is labored and heavy. He attempts to move his arms around her stomach, trying to find the most comfortable position for her and a way for the burns to remain untouched.

He thinks that she would hate to be seen in such an exposed state so he grabs the shirt she had dropped and gently places it over her chest.

They should have prepared better for this, he thinks to himself. They hadn’t prepared water, ointment or any means to alleviate pain. Although the last, he guessed, had been on purpose. Riza Hawkeye would always endure. She probably felt like she deserved to feel this pain. That this was the least she had to suffer to atone for what she had done in Ishval.

His attempts to move her to the bedroom where she could lay out her pain were complicated. He feels drained by what he just experienced and Riza’s body is hard to hold on to without agitating the burns further. He ends up gently holding her at the top of the shoulders and under the knees. An adjusted bridal position so to say. Not that he would ever tell her that, she might pull out her Glock just for mentioning marriage.

He manages to open the bedroom door with his elbow and almost trips as a black Shiba jumps to its feet having curled up in front of it.

‘Woah boy.’ Mustang adjusts his arms, attempting to move as little as possible. This friend was one Roy had never met before.

Black Hayate, Riza’s most recent companion of comfort, whines as he sees his owner unresponsive and follows Roy as he steps towards the bed.

He lays her on her side as softly as possible and moves her so that she is laying in the recovery position. This would alleviate any risk of further aggravating her injuries. Black Hayate jumped on the bed and padded over to his master. His expression one of confusion and hurt.

‘She can’t hear you right now.’ Mustang said quietly. ‘She needs to rest.’

Black Hayate runs his nose along Riza’s back, carefully taking in the changes. His whining continues as the smell of blood and singed skin fills the room.

Roy goes to open a window. The wind blows into the room in soft streams. It’s a cold wind though, one that would bite if it were only slightly stronger. Unconsciously, he slides down the wall and sits under the window, his eyes never leaving Riza.

Her breathing was shallow but the tears on her face had dried. The tracks they left behind were a stark contrast against the white of her skin. Riza never cries.

‘I’m sorry.’ He whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’

He rubs the tears out of his eyes, unwilling to lose his composure in front of Hawkeye whether she was conscious or not.

Desiring to undo the hurt he inflicted on her, he goes searching for ointment in the bathroom. He finds something similar enough to burn cream and forces himself to look at every single pattern he burned into her skin. The skin is charred and red, raw and open. Just like Riza, this was his atonement. His atonement for the sins he committed against her.

He follows the new marks on her skin and carefully applies the cream, pausing every time her body so much as twitched.

‘Are you free now?’ There was no use asking her, she couldn’t answer, but he had to anyway. Had this changed anything?

He thinks back to their times at the Hawkeye estate. He had spent countless years sharing the space with her. And then when he went to Ishval, she had been there too. His formative years had the red string of Riza Hawkeye running through them.

He knew that Riza had always felt tied down by the duty of her father. Had always succumbed to the Professor’s greatest needs, ignoring her own. The world of flame alchemy was carried on her shoulders alone. Not even Roy, who was a Flame Alchemist, could alleviate that.

He didn’t know if she found peace in her wounds. He hoped she did. It was the least that she deserved.

God, he wanted so badly to set her free. He hated that it had to come at the cost of her wellbeing.

A tiny voice inside him moaned I need you to be well. I need you to be safe. But as he always did, he kept his thoughts to himself, pushed them down until they were only a faint whisper.

Sitting at her back allowed him time to mull over exactly how he had been talked into mutilating the one person he insisted he would protect.

He had sworn such an oath to himself long before Professor Hawkeye had even brought it up. He could always use the professor as an excuse but he knew deep inside that he decided he was going to look out for Miz Hawkeye the second she made fun of him for standing in front of that boiling pot of water.

The memories came flooding back as if they had only just happened. Terse smiles exchanged in the hallway, a blanked laid over his shoulders as he fell asleep on his text book again, coffee strong enough for both of them to withstand the withering looks of the professor. Silent laughs at the kitchen counter, plenty of meals shared and stories told.

A fist clenched around his heart.

The memories became tarnished with darkness. The look on her face after she killed her first civilians, her head on his shoulder when exhaustion got the better of her, the way she’d snatch up the leftover sausages from his rations – the only semblance of joy she found in her time abroad. (She never knew he always saved them for her.)

They kept coming, the memories. And the pillow he was leaning against felt softer and softer. His mind clouded and the last thing he thought of before giving into the tendrils of darkness was blonde hair, quit wit and the smell of sausages.

They never spoke of that night again.

She served him coffee in the morning. French press, no milk. Just the way he liked it.

Their conversation was as minimal as her movements. She wore a t-shirt that went down to her knees and barely moved an inch.

Mustang spared a thought to the owner of the shirt, thinking it must be a man’s.

Then they say their good-byes and she closes the door as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Major Mustang was promoted for his heroic deeds in Ishval, he went by Lieutenant Colonel Mustang from then on and he had a new dream.

He had wanted to strengthen the government only to protect the people he loved. Clearly, that was no longer an option. As Professor Hawkeye had said, military lapdogs account for little change in the world – that cycle needed to be stopped. So Mustang reevaluated his desire and adapted it.

If he couldn’t protect his people by joining the military, he would protect them by leading it.

Who was going to oppose the Fuhrer?

No one.

Well, no one but him.

Ordered to Central City, Mustang accumulated a motley crew of wacky but loyal subordinates. He even called upon Hawkeye. Although she had once confessed she wished to retire, her thoughts were too filled with carnage and tragedy to find anything resembling rest.

He appointed her his personal aide and bodyguard.

He looked at her from behind his new desk as he proposed his plan.

‘Do you accept my offer?’

To stand behind you and fight, finally actually fight, for the right thing? To strike you down should you ever so much as waver?

She barely spared it a thought.

‘Of course I do, sir.’

She vowed. ‘I’ll follow you into hell if you ask me to.’

You already have. He thought.

Time brought about another promotion and plenty of trouble. People might say they had countless adventures since joining forces but the truth was both Lieutenant Major Mustang and 2nd Lieutenant Hawkeye walked a painful path.

Together they saw the aftermath of a Human Transmutation attempt and two orphans too lost to find their way. The little Rockbell girl, a name familiar to Mustang, had asked why anyone would join such an institution. Why the only people she had left to love should.

Hawkeye’s answer had been simple.

Because there are many ways you protect those you love and that was one of them.

Though she would never admit what love she was protecting, even when that love walked into the room and told her their time was up.

Within a year, the duo had been promoted and Maes Hughes had been murdered.

It was quite a picture, the Colonel with his hair pushed back, dressed in mourning.

1st Lieutenant Hawkeye stood at the grave and watched as her Colonel grieved.

It was the first time she had seen such emotion burst forth from him. He rarely talked about his past but when he did it was always with quick wit or in a cold matter-of-fact way. Maes Huges though… Colonel Mustang spoke plenty of Maes Hughes.

And how annoying his constant chatter was.

And how frustrating his cowardice was.

And how much he believed in the good of the world.

And how pure his heart was.

How much he loved his family.

‘Alchemists as a whole - we really are horrible creatures, aren’t we?’

His voice cracks. She has no answer.

‘I think I understand what drove those boys when they tried to bring back their mother.’

She couldn’t stop herself, not when he was hurting like this.

‘Are you alright, Colonel?’ A dumb question really.

He positions his hat, pulls it down over his eyes.

‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ His voice is low, it’s barely a croak. ‘Except, it’s a terrible day for rain.’

Confused she answers: ‘What do you mean? It’s not raining.’

Only then does she notice the tear tracks on his face and his lips pressed tightly together. There’s a hurt in her heart that she can’t quite place and a quiet sadness in her inability to alleviate his suffering.

‘Yes, it is.’

All she can say is: ‘So it is.’

Her Barry the Chopper encounter leaves Hawkeye more shaken up than she would like to admit.

It had been funny for a second, her heart may even have skipped a beat, as the Colonel’s face turned icy when the armour had called her ‘toots’ and he muttered ‘Stand aside, Lieutenant. There’s going to be a fire tonight.’

She never needed his protection anyway, he reckoned. But he’d offer it just for showmanship’s sake.

Just in case.

His comfort though… he always knew when she needed that.

She had excused herself early from their re-con session, he saw her eyes were downcast.

He called that night and she pretended to be surprised. He wafted on about Madam Christmas’ hostess bar, whiskey and wine.

She was content to listen to him. It distracted her from the feeling of impending doom, a feeling that was eerily familiar (Ishval, perhaps?). More souls connected to suits of armour meant more transmutation, more experiments, more evil.

‘These ladies won’t leave me alone, Hawkeye.’

He smiles ruefully, his complaint giving her a chance to jab at him.

‘I’m sure once they hear you speak, they will feel plenty deterred, Colonel.’ Her bland answer is an indication that she feels slightly better.

‘…Hawekeye…’ He whines.

He pushes away the thought of cracking another joke, instead his tone turns serious.

‘I will always be right in front of you.’

He hears her breath hitch, just for a moment.

‘If you ever feel lost, just follow my voice. I won’t lead you astray. I will always be right here.’

Time passes too quickly. The Colonel fakes Ross’ death, his team have their first encounter with Gluttony and Barry the Chopper decides to have a mind of his own. It is at that point that they met Lust and for the first time both of our soldiers needed to admit to themselves, quietly, that they could not live without the other.

‘Now, where was I?’ Lust croons. ‘I was about to send the Lieutenant to join her superior.’

The words hit Hawkeye like a ton of bricks. Her heart stops. Her head feels heavy.

‘It can’t be… You didn’t!’

One monstrous smile later and through a curse Hawkeye releases three full rounds into the demon’s chest. It doesn’t make a difference though. The woman regenerates in a flurry of red static and a hopelessness takes the place of the anger Hawkeye was feeling.

Tears run down her cheeks as the full meaning of Lust’s words finally sink in.

Strength leaves her body, Hawkeye sinks to the floor, inconsolable.

The day Mustang had thought would never come arrived. His Lieutenant was on her knees sobbing. No prompts from Alphonse could halt her. She felt the same dread that Mustang had felt mere minutes ago cauterizing Havoc’s wound, carving a Transmutation Circle into his hand.

Only now, for him, it was infinitely worse.

He, under no circumstances, could watch the people he loved die before him.

Especially not his Lieutenant.

‘You told me I couldn’t kill you but I’d like to try and prove you wrong.’ He spat at the Homunculus.

He lit the flint of the lighter to scorch the creature alive, payback for every second of pain she inflicted on his Lieutenant. It wasn’t enough. There was not enough pain in the world for this beast to endure as punishment for making Hawkeye cry.

The fire in his stomach still roared but the battle was over quickly.

‘I love how cold and focused your eyes are.’ The eery sound of her voice carried as Lust disintegrated before him. ‘I look forward…to the day when those eyes will be wide with agony.

It’s coming….

It’s coming…’

The welcoming eyes Hawkeye had once seen in her family’s kitchen were gone and replaced with cold, hard fury and torment.

Had time finally broken him?

It seems as time passed their burden only became heavier.

When Mustang woke up in the hospital, his was the only bed occupied. The one next to it was empty. The only other figure in the room was Lieutenant Hawkeye who had her arms curled around her head, leaning on his mattress from an uncomfortable looking chair.

He took a moment to steady himself.

This is fine. He told himself. This is okay. She is okay.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp pain in his side. Lifting the blanket, he saw his lower torso was wrapped in bandages, as was his right hand.

More scars to add to the collection.

‘Sir.’ He must have woken her by shifting the covers. ‘You’re awake.’

‘So are you.’

She straightened. ‘They took you in for emergency treatment. Your wound… they said they’ve never seen anything like it. It was like you had been pierced by sharpened rods…’

‘What about Havoc?’

‘He is still in surgery.’

She doesn’t seem confident. ‘There’s no word yet.’

Mustang grinds his teeth in frustration but keeps his qualms to himself. He spares her a glance which only makes him feel worse. Her eyes are sunken in, she’s wearing the same clothes as she had during the mission, the faint smell of burnt skin hangs around her.

He can only think of one way to help her. She hates vulnerability, she hates seeming weak and he knows she needs to regroup after the ordeal they just lived through. Wash off any embarrassment she may be feeling.

‘Go home, Lieutenant.’

She doesn’t move.

‘Lieutenant – ’

‘I told you I would follow you into hell.’

He expects the look she gives him to be hard and accusing but all he sees is helplessness .

‘I meant it.’ She vows.

‘I just didn’t think there would ever be a place where I couldn’t follow.’ Her hands are clenched in her lap. She avoids his gaze. ‘When Lust said she had killed you…I thought I lost my mind.’

Tears blur her vision.

‘I can’t do this without you.’ It’s just about a whisper.

He encloses her hand with his gently and looks at her face even though she is still avoiding his.

‘You’ll never have to.’ He promises. ‘Whatever we do, whatever we achieve or don’t achieve, we will do it together.’

He bows his head slightly to get a better look at her.

‘I told you, I will always be right in front of you.’

She can’t stop the tears from falling.

‘Lieutenant Hawkeye of Central City, I order you to always stand directly behind me. I order you to always stay by my side and never leave my line of sight.’

She gives a terse nod and tightens her hand around his ever so slightly.

‘Yes, sir.’

Not many Homunculi remained. Gluttony, Wrath and Pride were the ones left standing. Though the latter two were still unknown.

They managed to foil an attempt by Gluttony. Everything seemed under control. Until.. until Colonel Mustang let’s a rumour slip that Fuhrer Bradley may be a homunculus and suddenly everything became much clearer.

Ushered into a room full of high ranking military officials, none batted an eye when Bradley turned looking like the most sinister man ever to walk the earth.

Turns out it doesn’t take more than a quick joke to find your allies and force your enemies to go looking for you.

Fuhrer Bradley showed up at the Colonel’s office the very next day. He explained that the Homunculi had been scheming since Amestris had been put on the map and they weren’t about to let one nosy Colonel destroy their lifelong goal now.

‘How would your son react if he knew his father was secretly a Homunculus fueled by the death of others?’

‘It may serve you better to guard your own weaknesses, Colonel Mustang. Else you might find yourself an army of one. It is difficult to fight a war when you have no subordinates to support you. Even if you are an alchemist.’

Bradley’s look hadn’t been dark or dangerous, his expression had always been one of pleasant imposition, nevertheless the threat had been very clear.

‘Your Lieutenant, she seems bright and talented. She was a good choice to send to the front lines.’

Mustang said nothing, he eyes only narrowed on the Fuhrer.

‘I have decided to make her my own personal assistant. I could use someone like her in my office.’

No!

‘Hawkeye has nothing to do with this.’

‘She doesn’t need to. She is your closest confidant and most loyal follower.’

There was no denying that.

Their eyes meet.

‘Consider this a warning. A hostage situation is always precarious. It would be a shame if Lieutenant Hawkeye were caught in a cross-fire.’

That was the day Mustang decided he was going to kill Fuhrer Bradley, Wrath – whatever his name was/

For threatening his Lieutenant, Bradley was going to pay.

Hawkeye was surprised when she opened her door to find Edward Elric standing there. He had come to return the pistol from his encounter with Scar. Given his experience with alchemic canon launchers, it seemed a little amusing that he held a small gun with such trepidation but Hawkeye made no comment.

She served him tea and waited.

He didn’t say anything at first, only watched her take apart her weapon and clean in skillfully.

Then he asked about Ishval.

What could she say?

Crimes were committed, ledgers painted red and no one walked away unharmed. Even those that did manage to survive.

There is something to be said about being the person that holds power the way a sniper does. That no shot ever misses its target. Ordinary battalion soldiers, they got to inflict their pain and walk away without watching the suffering they leave behind. But no sniper could turn away from their magnifying glass fast enough to avoid watching their victim fall.

It doesn’t matter. Is what she told him. Whether Colonel Mustang or she survived this ordeal didn’t matter. Whether they get imprisoned for the massacre they took part in didn’t matter. What mattered was the future of Amestris and the democracy it needed to thrive.

Colonel Mustang wanted to be the Fuhrer to change this world for the better. But he was very aware that as soon he did make those changes, they may affect him as well. Signing an order to bring peace to the Ishvalan conflict was what needed to be done. And after all, they had taken part in the war. They deserved to pay for the damage they had caused.

She thinks for a moment how young the boy is sitting in front of her and how he has had to fight a war as well. There was nothing she could do to alleviate the weight he carried, finding his place in the world and saving his brother was not something she could assist him with. So instead she listened. He told her about his fears and how he felt useless.

A great sorrow overcame her as she watched this boy, really nothing but a boy, face death over and over again and never shy away.

There’s something of the Colonel in him. She thinks quietly, screwing her gun back together.

‘You’re just dwelling on this stuff because you made it back alive. You need to focus on living.’

He looked solemn.

‘That’s how you protect her.’

That’s how you protect them all.

Roy Mustang had an itch. Not a physical itch, an emotional one… a metaphysical one. Like something bad was about to happen but he couldn’t quite tell what it was.

The cart of flowers he bought were pretty. Expensive but pretty. It didn’t scratch his itch. There, at the back of his neck his hair stood upright because he felt something.

He followed his instinct to a phonebooth and tried his best not to think about Hughes while he picked up the receiver.

He did what he always did when he called his Lieutenant, he cracked a joke and hoped it would cover up his sense of dread.

‘Hello there, Madam. It’s your friendly neighbourhood florist.’

He hears her let out a breath she was holding and even though he couldn’t see her, he knew her face was pinched. She had expected something worse.

The itch went away. A serious note enters his voice.

‘…do me a favour and take some off my hands?’

The tiniest of sighs escapes her lips. It’s enough for him to know. The moment of humour passes immediately. It is replaced with worry.

‘What’s wrong?’

No answer.

‘Did something happen?’

Her reply is a small ‘No, sir.’ And she knows he doesn’t believe her. ‘It’s nothing.’

A beat.

‘Are you sure?’ Tell me.

Her voice is monotonous. ‘Yes, sir. Everything’s fine.’

There is no use prodding her. He knows his Lieutenant well enough to avoid aggravating her further.

He pretends to buy her weak excuse of not owning a flower vase to turn down the flowers and hangs up when she bids him good-night.

Walking off his buzz, he keeps two bunches of flowers and gives the rest away. One he brings to Major General Armstrong, the second he leaves in front of Hawkeye’s door. Not even his buzz would stop him from remembering to check on her the next day.

The office seemed bigger and emptier without Hawkeye. Her presence had unknowingly filled up the space and now it felt wrong. The colleagues he had left, the ones that Wrath hadn’t banished to faraway places, all seemed downcast. As if they knew the end was near. As if they were losing their fight.

His office demeanor hadn’t changed. Perhaps it should have but he refused to replace his Lieutenant because he would not accept that it was a permanent change. Instead, he grovelled with his superiors and charmed them into giving him more time. And boy, did he use every second of it.

Working through meals had become staple.

But again, he told himself, it was not permanent.

His breathing felt a little easier when he spotted her in the cafeteria. Even sitting across from her, to see that she was alive, for now it would be enough.

He makes note of a healing cut on her cheek and sees the red marks on her wrists. If she sees him notice, she does not react.

She had always known how to wax on about things. Her undercover operations were infamous in their, his, office. She could talk her way out of anything. It was nice to hear her talk.

He listened, appearing distracted with his fountain pen, but paid close attention. He stops mid-bite when she tapped her mug against the table twice.

Listen. Up. It said.

All those days holed up on stake outs with nothing to do to pass the time helped them adapt their own form of Morse Code. It had been several years now since they had actively used it but every now and again it came in handy. His eyes met hers, he tapped his fountain pen twice.

I’m. Ready.

She recounted a bizarre story of former cadets that she grew up with, ones that were stationed out North and who knows where else. A girl name Sugar was included and other details that made for a funny tale.

In a locked bathroom stall, later, he decodes her message, he wishes he his hunch had been wrong. But he had felt it coming.

SELIM BRADLEY IS HOMONCULUS

Mustang held the burning note over the toilet and watched as his only lead turned to ash. The marks on Hawkeye’s skin made more sense now. She had run into the original Homunculus.

There were no words that could accurately describe the dread that Mustang felt when he saw his Lieutenant in a headlock. The man holding her wielded a duelling sword, his shoulder pressed against the wound in her shoulder.

‘I will not be your puppet. Do it yourself!’ He spat his words that the crazed lackey professor.

He had said the wrong thing.

The words the professor said barely reached him, Mustang had his eyes on Hawkeye the entire time. The split second they darted away, all he saw was blood and all he heard was the sound of a clean cut. Metal on skin. They had slit her throat.

He went wild.

‘Lieutenant! Lieutenant! Lieutenant!’ Pure agony filled his voice. He struggled against his hold.

‘What do say you, Mustang?’

He spat his words at the psycho, fighting the guards with every molecule in his body. ‘I’LL KILL YOU!’

‘Perform the transmutation and become the fifth sacrifice.’ That was what they ordered him to do.

The professor kept talking but none of it registered. His eyes were only on Hawkeye who was lying on the ground, hair spilled around her, her hand on her neck trying to stop the steady pool of blood growing around her.

‘I’m not gonna die.’

She’s still alive! His heart sings.

‘What you don’t know is…’ her breath is staggered ‘is that I’m under strict orders… not to die.’

The blood continued to leak from her wound, he saw her consciousness fade and the light in her eyes dim.

Your woman. That is what the professor had said when he taunted Mustang. His woman.

He ran the scenario in his head. How much sacrifice was too much to make the world a better place? Was one philosopher’s stone, that has already been created by people no longer in this world, so repulsive in its nature that it had to be shunned – even if it could save the one person that mattered? The one person he loved?

Only once before had he considered using human transmutation and back then it had been a pipe dream, a fantasy to bring back someone he missed dearly and knew he could live without but did not want to. This time … he was serious. He would not …. No, he could not live without his Lieutenant.

The only thing stopping him is her quiet beg. ‘Colonel, please.’ She shivers. ‘You don’t have to do this. Don’t sacrifice everything for my sake.’

The world be damned, none of the change he wanted mattered if he couldn’t experience it with her.

Her eyes are focused now, staring at him, right into his soul. Begging him to follow her order just this once. Until her look turns upwards. A signal.

‘Alright.’

A beat. Hawkeye fell weaker and the professor smiles wickedly.

‘Alright, Lieutenant.’ He holds her gaze and says with full confidence ‘I won’t perform the transmutation.’

Mei and others who Mustang can’t bring himself to care about hijack the professors plan and help him take down the pawns.

He runs towards the Lieutenant with all his might barely pausing to snap his fingers igniting the man that steps in his way.

He begs her to open her eyes turning her face towards him. He feels the weakness in her body, how her limbs have almost gone limp. He doesn’t even notice the solider coming at him with a sword. His eyes stay on Hawkeye the entire time. If they die, they die together.

‘Don’t you dare die! Stay with me Lieutenant!’ Please. He begs silently.

The little girl runs over intent on helping. She has Mustang lay down the Lieutenant as she draws an alkahestry circle in blood and slams kunai into the junctures. Mei lays her hands on the ground and a moment later the entire circle glows with blue electricity. Mustang can see the wound on Hawkeye’s neck clotting as the muscles get bound back together. The glow fades and for a moment nothing happens.

Then Hawkeye stirs.

He grabs her by the arms and pulls her into his chest. His breathing is as shallow as hers and he can’t stop himself from closing his eyes and laying his head on hers, just for a moment. He thanks the gods, the almighty and whoever else may be worthy for sending Mei to Central City. For saving his Lieutenant, he would be indebted to her for the rest of his life.

Mei watches the pair with fascination. They didn’t seem to realize that the battle was still waging around them. All they could see was each other, all they could feel was the other.

‘Colonel…I’m… so sorry..’

‘No, don’t speak. Just rest now.’

‘You understood my signal…I’m not sure how…but I’m glad.’

In spite of their situation, he smiles. ‘We’ve been together long enough.’

The thought warms his heart. He feels such a sense of relief, he can’t help but made a joke.

‘And besides, I know that glare. It means ‘use human transmutation and I’ll shoot you.’

He brings her to her feet and gives out thanks just as Fuhrer Bradley shows up.

A single glance in Hawkeye’s direction has Mustang tightening his grip on her shoulder.

Nothing the Fuhrer says has any impact because Mustang has found his purpose again. He has people behind him that stop him from being reckless now, people that keep him heading down the right path.

Wrath’s compliments are wrapped with venom. Mustang thinks this has got to end soon, he feels Hawkeye’s knees giving out. He’s bearing most of her weight now.

Gently, he passes her to a companion with the intention of facing Pride himself. The horrible creature that radiated darkness stood silently in front of the group by the person that was allegedly its father.

Before he could make a move though Wrath jumps at him. His alchemy misses its target and he is pushed to the ground with Wrath’s knee on his chest and his swords impaling his hands.

The sight of the swords running through his palms is almost as horrifying as Hawkeye’s scream.

What happened next compared to nothing they had ever seen before. Not Ishval, not fighting homunculi, nothing. The group watched as Pride murdered their own subordinate and used him and its shadows to create an alchemic human transmutation circle. With his hands pinned down, Roy Mustang was forced to become the fifth sacrifice

Wrath walked from the circle as if he was walking in a park and only briefly stopped to wonder ‘What will be taken from you, Roy Mustang?’

Roy woke up in an endless white room in front of a being that was made of static while simultaneously also made of nothing at all. It emitted powerful energy and though it had no eyes, Roy had the distinct feeling of being watched.

‘So you have discovered the Portal.’

The voice that spoke was eery. As if thousands of voices were combined to speak through one vessel that didn’t move at all. It cocked its head as if it were looking at a new toy.

‘And you have discovered the Truth.’

The Truth?

‘You intend to leave here alive.’

It was uncanny, the being that was sitting cross legged in front of him. Creepy even. Roy felt like his heart was being read right out of his chest.

‘You think you have a world to build. You think you are worthy of inflicting change.’

The creature unsettled something deep within him. It seemed unhinged and otherworldly.

‘What is your payment?’

Payment?

‘To open the Gate, payment must be received. Thus is the law of Equivalent Exchange.’

Roy said nothing. This was jarring. It all made sense now. The laws of equivalent exchange came from the alchemic transference in the almighty realm. The thing that was sitting in front of him… was God. For having trespassed into its territory, an alchemist must pay to repent for the greatest sin ever committed that would bring him to such heights. Human transmutation. A great deal of knowledge flooded through Roy as he felt the being look at him, waiting.

‘So being pulled through the Gate grants alchemists the ability to perform alchemy without the usual means of transmutation in exchange for a toll.’

The being smiles, revealing a set of largely comic teeth.

‘Edward paid with his limbs.’

The smile grows.

‘Alphonse paid with his body.’

‘What will you pay?’ The voices echoed through the whiteness.

Silence.

‘Will you sacrifice your vision?’

‘My vision?’

Roy thought about his goal, the world he wanted to create, foster and protect. His vision of a better future.

Impatience rang through the room, though how Roy wasn’t sure.

‘Time is up.’ The voice said. ‘Will you keep your vision even if you lose your sight?’

The rest of the battle is black. The person the Homunculi called Father is unknown to him, he only remembers the voice of the monster that inflicted so much damage. Calm, cool and collected. Disgusting.

Sig Curtis helps him step from the moving stone. He can’t see the sunlight but he feels the heat on his face.

‘Colonel!’

Relief floods his chest.

He bends down towards Hawkeye’s voice, a hand moves unconsciously in front of his eyes as if he would be able to see the movement. He feels her hand hover near his.

He can’t place her face so he keeps his eyes averted.

‘Colonel, are you injured? What’s wrong?’

Her voice is closer, she must be kneeling in front of him.

For one single second he allows grief to overcome him for what he has lost.

‘My sight is gone.’

She gasps, her mouth agog.

He pushes down any and all emotions. ‘Lieutenant, how are your injuries?’

He needs to make sure she is okay.

He hears her hold back a sob, he knows exactly what her face would look like.

‘Don’t think about me! Just worry about yourself for once!’ Her hand moves towards his eyes. ‘Your eyes…’ She sounds distraught, his eyes have grayed and they no longer shake with emotion.

‘Lieutenant.’ His voice is gruff, for a moment his hand hovers by hers. ‘Can you still fight?!’

This time her breath is not hesitant. Her resolve is clear.

‘Yes sir.’

The battle is a blur to everyone. Thinking back, he remembers Hawkeye at his back, her hands on his arm pointing him in the right direction.

He recalls thinking he’d like to have her stand this close by his side forever.

Everyone lost something that day. But many also received.

Edward lost his alchemy but as is always the case with equivalent exchange, he got something back that could only be considered comparable.

In the end, he found out he was not defined by his alchemic skill or even by the battle he won Amestris but by the love he had for his brother. Some love was so strong, it could endure even an almighty’s touch.

Alphonse Elrich returned to the living plane and reunited with his body. It would be a long time before he resembled anything close to ‘okay’ but he would get there in the end. He had his big brother and the family he found along the way. The first thing on his list was eating Winry’s apple pie and taking a good long nap.

That left our heroes, our star crossed lovers of the military. Elizabeth and her Mustang.

They both recovered, she more quickly than he, but performing human transmutation will do that to ya. Still, she never left his bedside.

When night had fallen after the battle, while Amestris still stood in shambles, Hawkeye had begged the doctors to let her stay by her Colonel’s side.

Her hospital bed was placed next to his. When he awoke after countless checks his gaze stayed towards the wall. They didn’t speak for a long time and only Hawkeye could see the moon shine through the window. It was quiet until…

‘I wish I could see your face, Lieutenant.’

He knows her better than anyone, so he knows she has tears in her eyes. Not from his comment, mostly from the ordeal they survived. Maybe a little from his comment.

‘I’ll help you get your sight back, Colonel. If it’s the last thing I do.’

‘Don’t bother.’

‘Sir!’

He hears her climb out of bed and feels her move towards him.

‘Stop.’ His word is quiet but it is final.

He reaches out in the direction he thinks she is standing and tries to find her hand.

‘I don’t need sight if I have vision. And I know what my vision is, was. I want to protect my people. You are the person I wanted to protect. If losing my eye sight means you get to live, then I will give it up a hundred times.’

A knot forms in her throat. He tugs gently until she’s sat on the edge of his bed.

‘Colonel…’

‘I may not be able to see anymore but we still have a lot of work to do, you understand? I’m going to need you right by my side throughout all of it.’

She shakes her head, her voice wavering. ‘I’ll never leave you.’

He smiles in her general direction. His hand runs up her arm until it finds her cheek.

‘Good. Because I can’t live with out you and I don’t plan to either.’

She leans into his touch.

This is fine. She thinks. Forever like this, is fine.

#bee writes #beewrites #fmab #fullmetal alchemist #fullmetal alchimist brotherhood #fic #for wendy #always for wendy

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t-underneaththeradardancing · 6 years ago

Text

sat

my neighbor (in the lighted window) - the moon - i think my neighbor thot - but maybe not - i lost the foto scrolling - idk how i diddit - doo wah or p diddy or bo diddley - anyway herez the moon and the rest below cuz i got mad skillz - ru laffing

that wuz sat - a bit b4 midnite i was feeling hopeful - im almost always inna good mood around midnight - either that or desolate despair like - no imma not bipolar either - not sure i gotta handle on the side effx tho the meds the new ones - still 2 early for this much 2nd gessing - i can see a valid medical stat for the 4 im taking each one

i swear i mean to just write a fucking pome not a blow by blow of the current symptoms and conditions - but i think thatz poetry 2

i miss my early mornings - alone w the kitty - its a whirlwind w the unpoet trynna get ready steady go to an office or a hearing - its ok she likes it - not the leaving but the doing - she likes practicing law and teaching others fine points like a mother hen and she is getting quite popular at the new firm already w her templates from her biz she shares

ok maybe its more like a journal but i never keep a journal not even in rehab

so i think we wuz tawking bout the hour approaching midnight and after - maybe imma really just a nite owl vampire left to my own devices - tho i have found i like sunshine - but late night anything - is possible if unlikely - the cracks in - the spaces - between worlds widen - just a bit - tho as a child there were terrifying endless seeming - somethings - my dreams sometimes

the quiet dark ish - i usually have a dim light on if im not sleeping and ambient from the windows - late - is a good time to sort realities and fit facts and make prediction - usually theres a kitty near we talking lifetime - and stars - i sleep really well in a little town called marina - on a sand dune - in a comfy room mind u - my sleeping bag daze r over for a while now - i can hear the ocean all night - havent been there for too long - theres always reasons - and if its not foggy (not a good bet ) omg the stars - yah we stardust joni and gods children if there is one - i act as if cuz it works best it seems - i pray cuz thots r things - i dont know about 6 before breakfast but yah i believe impossible things like a milliner do - u can beeleef anything u wanna as long as it aint evil - fine by me - and late at night almost everything is ok

afaik there aint a roadmap maybe not even a well marked path - wuz thinking bout the heart attack thing and recovery but i gess living - and there never wuz a script for the life i leading - led or - in 50 words or less - at least 50 different jobs not counting temp work - a dozen discretely different “careers” or avocations at least as many total failures - more than 50 places i have called home not counting hotels and short term “fixes” - been down to less than a suitcase of everything i own fit and nothing in the bank cuz i dont even have an account a few times - i never own a car tho i bought 1 for the un poet - i literally cant see well enuff to drive ever - i thot it was normal to see double for the 1st 6 years - somehow - im here - in a beautiful city i born in - a couple blocks from the water - yah the apartment izza shambles - old like right around 100 and nothings been done major for over 30 yrs - the last thing was replacing perfectly good heavy windows w aluminum/plastic leaky drafty ones but at least we got a new roof - and its gotten 2 expensive to more than think about moving if we wanna stay in the city - still - its light and cheery inna daytime - quiet and snug enuff at night - im lucky - i know it rarely forget how much - imma survive in style maybe more than deserving

(ahem - did u have a point t ? its ok n everything but u gone on - and on - for a while now - just sayin )

oh yah - the regret thing - even edith piaf did from time to time - i think

therefore

oh look t !!!! eyore !!

u dont know it but u just got saved from existential

maybe i didnt have a point

could this uh poem b saved - maybe by a kitty

nah

but imma post it anyway

#poetry i guess #at least therz a crappy foto

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schizo-spoon-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Spoonbender Society: Selected Schizoepistles

FW: FW: FW: FW: FW: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE:

We Live In A Society

People say we live in a democracy/democratic republic, a form of government intended to amplify what people think and address problems they find to be important. But it doesn’t ever seem to function that way.

The issue is in voter suppression, but as always not in the way people generally think voter suppression works. The issue is psychic, spiritual, and social suppression of citizens. Systemic over-development of senses of rationalization, neuroticism and anxiety, industrially incentivized narcissism.

People develop a deathly fear of what others think, or may think, or what they may have thought about them or what they think, what they may think, or what they may have thought.

A democracy where we’d rather not hear what other people have to say, because we find their thoughts offensive and retarded. That’s one thing people are happy to share. But because we suspect that there are so many offensive retards in the world, we fear... "Perhaps I’m a retard too?" You wonder that even for just a second in your life, if you have a soul. It’s OK to be a retard really, but you’ll never believe that it’s OK, and that's probably What Your Fucking Problem Is.

The opinions of us purported non-retards, to avoid sounding like complete retards, end up soft, ambivalent and stale, phrased like True Neutral Orgasm in Ego-Death Nirvana, but less Chad, less gratifying, and nobody cums. To not be reminded of the possibility of our own retardation, we like to pretend that if the retards just shut up and nobody can hear them, they go away. If they are Physically Removed from our presence, their evil thoughts and their malicious intentions will go away with them. We win. But they don’t. They never do.

We always fail to Psychically Remove them. We lose.

We can hypothesize a law of conservation of hatred, correlate one too of love, but the truth is banal. How can it be in light of our timeline? Why are these Hate Groups all over the place? Hitler’s corpse is rotting or burned to a crisp, or embalmed in a tomb or made a toilet for Some Rich Dude ((parenthetical removed)). (Or was he cloned?)

Great Fatherland Germany - defeated by the "untermensch" and partitioned like a cheese between rats. That Great "Faustian" and "Supreme" "Aryan" Race is subjugated by the hated "Juden" and all the "vermin" of the world, humiliated, castrated to be reunited a shadow of its former self. Yet the Nazi threat is omnipresent nearly a century later, in an era which may be an alien planet to those who lived in Hitler’s time.

How is it that the Great Allies, our fathers and grandfathers, achieved such total victory over so loathsome a foe, so unsympathetic and vile, only to see his Evil infect their own countrymen and posterity? How can something so thoroughly defeated still persist in what could be our neighbors or our co-workers our bosses or our employees? Each one could be a secret Nazi now. In parenting blogs moms worry that their children are becoming Nazis from goofy men they see in videos on line. Marriages are ending in divorce because the husband or wife is allegedly or apparently a Nazi. How could this happen?

Have you ever seen “The Matrix? Who hasn’t? You know all about the red and blue pills, and all the rainbow-flag DLC that it comes with, black and pink and green and brown and in configurations invisible to the human eye, I’m sure. If you don't know, the pills are portals to different realities. Take the black pill and you only see death, take the white pill and everything’s alright, take the blue pill you vote for Hillary, take the pink you become genderqueer. But this is not about taking any pills. This is about going off your meds. Going straight edge - except for whiskey, cigarettes, cocaine and pussy. It’s about the spoon - no, not for shooting up. It's for bending - with your mind. Remember? That spoon - The Spoon That Isn’t There.

That spoon is a Nazi.

If you are aware that there is no spoon you can tie it into knots. You can make it into a balloon animal. That Nazi Spoon could be a Jewish Socialist from Vermont, or a kosher Brooklyn Zionist, or a Dominican Taxi Driver. It could be an evil copy of your own son from Bizzaro World. It's probably your uncle. It could be Rottweilers, and Chihuahuas. Whether Pitbulls are Nazis or Jews/Blacks is an ongoing debate in the contemporary discourse.

But imaginary shit can be whatever the hell you want. You don’t have to be "The One" to Bend the Spoon. You don’t have to be anyone at all. What was the name of the kid who said the line about the spoon again? Nobody knows, nobody cares, and that's the beauty of Spoonbending.

"The Nazi" is the guy who keeps talking when he should shut up. He might be autistic, but he could just be an asshole. There is a strong possibility he could be both. Why does he keep saying all of this ridiculous stuff? He’s more offensive and more retarded than the usual, but it feels like He Has To Be This Way. Like it’s his curse, He Knows Too Much. He fell down some rabbit hole and ended up gorged on Fascist Propaganda. He mentions some girl named Celine. He rambles on about some guy you’re pretty sure is a Tekken character... the guy who turns into the Devil maybe. He mentions a vacation in Turkey with his family but insists on saying Constantinople and there’s a wild-man tear in his eye. He insists he knows about Atlantis and calls you gay for saying you liked Aquaman. Instead of saying goodbye he says “Subscribe to Pewdiepie.” The Nazi belongs in an institution. You wonder if he has guns and if maybe he should have them taken for a while. He probably doesn’t, but you can’t be sure. He’s 12.

When is it too early to become a school shooter? Is 12 too early to be an incel?

12 is probably the age at which incels hatch from their human hosts.

“Who is Pewdiepie, and how has he groomed my nephew into the Hitler Youth?” many families today are asking. They think they’re looking at a spoon. Conditoning fills your heart with a desperate desire to see the spoon. A fact, pure fact, logical, reasonable, peer reviewed, widely accepted, So True, a Textbook Fact. The spoon. Everyone else sees it too. That goddamn Nazi Spoon.

You ever try to ask this at a party as an ice-breaker and see how the guests react?

“So, anyway, was The Holocaust Real?”

“Excuse me, what?”

“What do you think, was it real, how many people do you think died, don’t the gas chambers sound goofy to you?”

”Um… no… they don’t sound goofy. What are you talking about?”

“You ever hear about the Nazi Roller-coaster they had at one of the camps? They’d put Jews into a roller-coaster except they’d fly off the edge and get splattered. That’s how the Nazis killed ‘em. I swear. I read it in a book by a Holocaust Survivor. Impossible to believe if it weren’t so True. No shit. You hear about that?”

”I’m… gonna get another beer.”

Of course there’s a Correct answer to that initial question. It’s also the Right answer. Who would ever get this wrong? It's the 2+2=X of History. Well…

Pop-Quiz, Random Nazi Check, Anybody here Hate Jews? You a Groyper, Son? What’s so funny? You think the Cookie Monster committing genocide is a laughing matter boy? We don’t take kindly to your kind around here.

Maybe you should give the Nazi-check thing a try, it’ll separate sheep and goat real easy for you.

If you do this everyone will think you are The Nazi.

The Nazis hated Jews, but did they hate real Jews as Jews exist, or did they hate the Fascist Propaganda Jew who was a work of fiction? On that note, were you in love with your last failed relationship, or just pretending you were? Have you ever had one impression of a person, but then learned they were another kind of person entirely? That first impression you had, the one that wasn’t True, was that a Real Person, or Imaginary? But you still spent all that money and sweat on an imaginary girl, huh?

Hope her hole was real.

I think that fake bitch of an ex you dated was a nazi. Your ex was a fascist. Oh, was she Jewish? It doesn’t matter, changes nothing. I’ve never met her - wouldn't matter if I did. When I imagine her, she's in Hugo Boss black and got skull-and-bones on her officer's cap, and she's saying racial slurs as she ruins your life, cheats on you, drains your bank account and kills your dog after getting custody over it in court. I imagine all bad people this way. All women who rejected me were exactly like this.

But I must breach working-class anti-fascist solidarity, and admit, on That Question ("Would you?").... Yeah, I would. Sorry bro. Take me away Comrades, I admit it, I'd give it to that Nazi Jew raw. Would I do that to her as she exists, or the Fascist Propaganda her who is a work of fiction?

That depends. You still got her number?

haha it's ok you can call me an incel, it's a step up from what i actually am

(User was banned for this post.)

The Nazi and the Fascist aren’t my hallucinations. That’s not my mental illness. But it’s adjacent to me, it’s thrown at me without my Consent, and it's a Trigger. I'm paranoid about commies myself.

In the multicultural cyberpunk year of 2019, with its trans-human gender-sex-orientations, anti-racist ethno-narcissism, fanatic anti-normalism, cultish critical theory intersections, grand byzantine minimalism, placidity, in such splendid predatory banality… In the absolute state of the world! – Aah! An undead ideology conceived by a salty Frenchman in the badlands of South Dakota in the 1890s shambles forth the devour all that is Good and Holy in the Great United States of AmeriKKKa, God Help Us All! And A Child Will Lead Those Dreadful Legions of Corruption Upon All The Meek Of Our Fallen World!

Or it’s just a spoon that isn’t real.

Nobody wants to be straight-forward, and I gotta navigate the labyrinths of euphemism. Maybe there's something weird going on - how people talk, how people act, how people think, none of those correlate to each other. It makes you feel schizo when you do all your mental rain-man calculus and realize there's a fucking Elephant in the living room and he's not wearing any goddamn pants. Once that little ray-of-sunshine blesses your tiny bug-man brain to enlighten you that the elephant is real, and the spoon isn't, it's only a matter of time before you're crowned in tinfoil a Potato King on your off-grid Bug-out estate in the Idaho Panhandle, or start drinking yourself to death and bullying mailmen (or both).

If you'd like to avoid that sort of Elephant-Mania Spoon-denialism, maybe you should try answering Uncomfortable Question instead of being so Weird about it, oh wise Mr. Kirk, Mr. Shapiro, Mr. Talking-Head, Mr. Important-Guy, Mr. Movement, Mr. Politics, Mr. Voice of Reason, Mr. Metatron. Take it from a schizo-maniac with a manifesto, you’re freaking out the hoes.

Try Praeger U talking points out on a Tinder date and watch her shrivel up from instathot to instahag -- she will go through menopause before your very eyes, that's how dry her pussy will get. Trying not to sound racist while talking about the Antarctic Nazi base and the importance of craniometry in ethnocultural anthropology will get you more action than anything that sounds like a paraphrase of Charlie Kirk -- because even if you're still being cringe at least you aren't being fake. Point and laugh at that fucking elephant - the moron isn't even wearing pants! That'll get her thinking about taking your pants off. Or not - it's not foolproof. If she doesn't laugh, red-flag, she's a Nazi so Begone Thot!

Please, for the love of God, go off-script! See the damn elephant and forget the spoon, and forget the wise Mr. Kirk, Mr. Shapiro, Mr. Talking-Head, Mr. Important-Guy, Mr. Movement, Mr. Politics, Mr. Voice of Reason, Mr. Metatron. Take it from a schizo-maniac with a manifesto, you'll go insane if you don't.

[. . . ] [T]hen there's that neuroticism, that narcissism, that fear. The whole point of these politics groups and gatherings and Q&As is what, anyway? Is it really just basic marketing tactics, like a live-action advertisement you expect for people to passively consume as though it is persuasive? To shove free-markets and free-speeches down my throat and have me swallow it without having anything that’s been bothering me answered? What do I look like to you, an Ideology Whore? You don't even reciprocate a good time, huh? I'm not that kind of girl. You didn't even buy me dinner. You made me pay to bore me. I'd cuck you if we dated just to make a very important point -- fully aware it'll go over your head. Fuck you.

We gotta hear The Script. We gotta recite The Script.

Real Conservatives Think Like This. Real Progressives Think Like This. White People Walk Like This. Black People Walk Like This.

Gotta hear that joke ten thousand times so you can recite it like a mantra in your sleep.

Free markets mean free people. Facts don’t care about your feelings. Private Companies can do what they wish. What you do in your bedroom is your own business. We want legal immigration, not illegal.

Abolish ICE. Your childhood hero says Trans-Rights. Do you not want me in the movement? Abolish whiteness.

The Racism of Lowered Expectations.

Reparations.

A white nation.

Workers of the world unite!

Abortion is a human right.

Have you got it memorized?

Let’s go over it a few more times.

Say it with me! Hillary was found innocent in a hundred hearings and it is sexist to besmirch her reputation.

Repeat after me! Trump’s economy is the best in history, and if he's racist why is black unemployment is at historical lows.

You benefit from unearned privilege. You suffer from toxic masculinity.

The world is about to end and everything you know and love will die, and it is your fault, for not believing in the correct things at the correct time.

Are you laughing yet?

I’m dying. I feel like an e-girl, and my orbiters are sides.

But do you wanna know what I really think? The whole bit about psychic and social suppression? You ever hear about the Procrustean bed? Well, what if we put your political, social, moral consciousness and your psychic abilitys into a bed like that. We could talk about it. You ever play Xenogears?

Or you could just put me in a box. I really wouldn't mind. I'm Houdini. Hey, was Houdini a Nazi, like Henry Ford? Can we get a fact-check? I didn't mean to be problematic.

Break the Conditoning - Step outside the box, and use it as a step ladder. Ascend, Beyond the Box - use The Spoon.

Bush did 9/11, the Israeli’s danced, the Aliens killed JFK - sure - but I only say this because of my MK Ultra Schizo-brain. It’s true, it’s false, it’s fact, it’s myth, I don’t have to believe any of it -- I also don't have to believe any of you if I don’t want to. My feelings do not care about your facts, and did you know that some of the world's most uncomfortable facts are manifested into being by uncomfortable feelings? Is it the fact of the bullet that kills the political dissident, or the feelings of his executioner? Is it the deranged lust of the rapist that violates his victim, or the fact of his power to do so? I guess it depends on whether the perpetrator said "nothing personnel kid" before he committed the act. I don't know about that Nazi Rapist's feelings, but MY feelings are valid and I can believe or disbelieve whatever I want on the basis of my feelings, and my feelings alone. My feelings bend the spoon of your facts.

Are you going to say I don’t have the right, Adolf? Sucks for you, bud, I may be a commie by blood, but the heart that pumps it was assembled in the ole USA -- and we got the Right to be a Retard here in America. It's a Free Country.

[Note: please insert image of Jonathan Frakes from Beyond Belief: Fact or Fiction]

Now that the dust has settled: Was the Nazi Roller-Coaster Real? Or did we put the Truth in a Mass-Grave? We will let you know at the conclusion of our program.

Sincerely and Full of Suffering Your Friend Always, Orcbrand

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